“Yeah. It went fast.”

“Hope filled us in on Jonathan’s visit. I’m not naive. I know there are selfish, nasty people in the world. But it still surprises me he could treat her the way he has. The way he did.”

To Ryder’s mind, the giving and good-hearted were often outnumbered by the selfish and nasty. “He’s used to getting what he wants just by wanting it. That’s my take anyway.”

“I think you’re right. Hope deserves better. She always did.”

“Not a fan?”

“No. I mean, I barely know him, really, but I never liked him very much. Hope says it’s not like Sam.”

He thought of rushing into the bedroom of Clare’s little house down on Main Street, just after Beckett. Of seeing her, pale, dazed, swaying after that bastard Sam Freemont had been after her. And of Beckett pounding Sam’s face—after Clare had clocked him with the only weapon at hand: a damn hairbrush.

“Honey, it’s not. It’s not like that. Freemont’s a sick son of a bitch. Wickham?” He remembered Hope’s term. “He’s just a slimy bastard.”

“She convinced me, mostly. But, after you really understand how far some people will go, how obsessed they can be … Will you keep an eye out anyway?”

“It’s already done.”

She took the coffee he handed her. “Then I feel better.” And drew in the scent. “A lot better.”

“I’ve got to get going. Are you all right on your own?”

Her smile warmed as she patted her belly. “We’re fine.”

He went out, let D.A. out of the truck, and they walked over to MacT’s together. He might rag on Beckett about the husband and daddy deal, but he knew his brother had hit the jackpot with Clare. Ryder considered her one in a million.

They’d changed each other’s lives, as she’d said, but things were supposed to change. Change meant progress, improvements, the occasional happy surprise.

Like when they’d opened the wall between the restaurant side and bar side and discovered the old wood siding complete with two old windows.

Owen hit it big with Avery as well, Ryder mused. She’d taken one look at the old siding and instead of asking them to cover it up again, embraced it, appreciated the character and what it added to the building.

He imagined within a handful of years, Owen would be juggling kids and work and life. Owen might write up schedules, but wasn’t so stupid or rigid he wouldn’t adjust.

Change, he mused as he got another day’s work started, he was in the business of it.

He put in time with his tools, interrupted three times by the phone, which he started hating again. He crossed over to the fitness center to deal with a problem there, then back to the restaurant, where he found Beckett picking up where he’d left off.

“Owen met with the inspector,” Beckett told him. “Bakery’s good to go.”

“I heard.”

“He’s meeting with Lacy now,” Beckett said, referring to the baker. “Then he’ll go ahead and pick up the U&O. That’s a big check mark off the list.”

“Plenty left to go. Things are under control here.” Ryder looked around to be certain. “You can come with me.”

“Where?”

“We’re going to tear off that bastard roof.”

“We had that for midweek.”

“We’ve got a dry day, and it’s supposed to stay under ninety. Let’s get it done.”

It wasn’t the first tar roof they’d ripped off, but it would be the biggest. And Beckett remembered, not at all fondly, just how laborious, filthy, and downright nasty the job was.

“You don’t want to wait for Owen?”

Ryder just sneered at him. “Afraid of a little sweat, sweetheart?”

“Sunstroke maybe.”

“Find your balls, and let’s go get it done.”


IT WASN’T AS bad as Beckett remembered. It was worse.

Slathered in sweat and sunscreen, he huffed through his breathing mask as he hacked with the tear-off shovel. His muscles burned as if covered with simmering hot coals. Laborers hauled away the waste in wheelbarrows and carts, or hauled up replacement coolers of ice water.

They drank like camels, and never quite kept up with the thirst as every ounce of fluid poured out in more sweat.

“How many son-of-a-bitching layers of this shit is on here?” Beckett shouted.

“It’s a miracle the whole goddamn thing didn’t fall in last winter.” As he broke up another section with a roof cutter, Ryder looked over and grinned. “She’s going now.”

“If she doesn’t kill us first. What are you grinning at?”

“I like the view.”

Beckett paused, swiping at sweat and looked out. The copper roof of the inn gleamed and glinted in the sun. He could see The Square, and the traffic passing, people walking into Vesta’s for lunch, and shifting, he looked down Main to Turn The Page.

“I’d rather look at the view from a shady porch, with a beer in one hand and my woman in the other.”

“Use your imagination.” Ryder stripped off his saturated mask, glugged down water. Since he couldn’t waste the jug, he imagined pouring that cold water over his head.

As he took a moment to roll his aching shoulders, he saw Hope come out onto the second-floor porch. She paused a moment, looking over and up, studying the work and workers. He knew the instant her gaze reached him; he’d have sworn he felt it like an arrow to the loins.

She stood for a beat, as he did, then unlocked the door to J&R and disappeared inside.

“Must have someone coming in,” Beckett commented.

“Huh?”

“Caught ya looking.”

Ryder picked up a fresh mask. “No law against it.”

“Not yet. Why don’t you ask her out?”

“Why don’t you put that shovel to work?”

“A little dinner, some conversation. Hell, she baked you a pie.”

“You had as much of it as I did. You take her to dinner and talk to her.”

“I have. Or Clare and I’ve had her over. You need a buffer, bro? We can have the two of you over, smooth the way.”

“Blow me,” Ryder suggested, and hacked away.


IT DIDN’T HURT to look, Hope told herself. She went inside, unlocked Eve and Roarke. There she could open the blinds, just enough to see through, and across to the roof. Or what she imagined was left of it.

She’d had no idea how they’d intended to remove it. It seemed to involve a lot of sharp-bladed shovels, heavy bars, and some sort of saw. Along with a great deal of noise.

She imagined it miserable work, but it provided her with an interesting perspective.

Most of the men had stripped off their shirts. She hoped they’d made liberal and repeated use of sunscreen or they’d be hurting tonight.

She debated with herself a moment, thought, what the hell?

She hurried up to her apartment, grabbed her opera glasses, and jogged down again.

Definitely miserable work, she concluded as she brought that perspective close through the glasses. And oh my, my, the man was seriously built.

She’d seen it, when he had a shirt on, felt it the few times she’d been pressed against him. But … there was nothing quite like a full-on view of a sweaty man with muscles rippling.

No woman alive could deny a little buzz, even if the sweaty, ripplymuscle sort wasn’t her usual type.

She saw him glance over, pull down the mask to call out something to one of the other men. He had a damn good face, too—a little scruffy and unshaven over those strong bones, but damn good. And when he laughed, as he did now, another buzz zipped along inside her.

She made a little humming sound.

“Hope? I wasn’t sure what you wanted to do with …”

Hope turned. She nearly whipped the opera glasses behind her back, but she wasn’t quite that bad off. Instead she grinned, maybe a little sheepishly, as Carolee stopped at the door.

“I’m spying on the neighbors.”

“Really?” Wiggling her eyebrows, Carolee walked over. “What’s—Oh, the roof. God, they have to be hot and sweaty and—” She broke off, laughed. “And that’s the whole point. Let me have a look.”

She took the glasses, peered out through the slats of the blinds. “They are pretty, aren’t they? I only see two of the boys—Justine’s boys. Owen must’ve figured a way out. Horrible work. We should make them some lemonade.”

“Oh, well, I don’t know if—”

“Absolutely.” Beaming, Carolee handed the glasses back to Hope. “We’ll fill a couple of coolers, an ice bucket, take some plastic glasses. We have that folding table downstairs. It’s a good deed.”

“And I should pay for the show?”

Carolee gave her a little pat. “I wouldn’t say that. Come on, it won’t take much time. We’ve got a couple hours before check-in.”

She couldn’t say no to Carolee, especially since she’d been caught ogling the woman’s nephew. So together they made vats of lemonade. They carted out the folding table, coolers, ice, cups. Carolee called one of the men by name, hailed him over. That started a rotation of men from the roof, from inside.

She got a lot of “thanks, Hope,” or in a few cases “Miss Hope.”

“You’re a lifesaver.” Beckett downed a cup, winked at his aunt.

“You be careful up there.”

“You bet. We’re almost done. We’re cutting through to the damn rubber now. Your timing’s good. We’re going to break for lunch, finish it up after.”

“Sweep that area over there for nails,” Ryder ordered someone, then grabbed a cup, gulped down the contents. “Thanks.”

“I’m going to call in the lunch order,” Beckett announced, and stepped away with his phone.

“Here, Ryder, have another. Your mama’s coming by later.”

“What for?”

“Because I told her you were tearing off that roof, and she wants to see. I’m going to make another batch so y’all can have more with lunch.”

“And she’s going to want to see the restaurant, and the bakery,” Ryder muttered. “Where the hell is Owen?”

“Here.” Hope poured him another cup herself. “Cool off.”

“There isn’t enough lemonade in the world.” But he drank it. “We’ll have gotten that bitch off before it gets too hot, so that’s something.”

Hearing his master’s voice, D.A. wandered out, rubbed up against Ryder’s legs. Hope took a dog biscuit out of her pocket.

“He’s going to start expecting a cookie every time he sees you.”

“You got lemonade.”

“He hasn’t been ripping off a tar-and-gravel roof and sweating off ten pounds.”

She bent to pet the dog, tipped her face up so her eyes glinted through a dark curtain of hair. “Maybe I should get my garden hose.”

“I might just use it at the end of the day.” He hesitated. “Have you got people coming in?”

“Yes. Three rooms, one staying through the weekend.”

“Okay.”

“Any particular reason you asked?”

“No.”

Back to one-word responses, she thought, and tried another avenue. “I hear you shared your pie on Man Night.”

“The kids were like vultures. I underestimated them.”

“I’ve got half of one left. You can have it.”

“I’ll take it.”

“Pick it up before you leave. I have to get back to work.”

“We’ll bring the table and stuff back. We appreciate it.”

“All right. Oh, and I’m sure I can make time if you want me to hose you off.”

She had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes narrow in speculation before she turned and walked away.

Hope considered herself a pretty good judge, and in her judgment she and Ryder Montgomery were having a serious flirtation.

They’d see where it went from there.


OWEN SHOWED UP as Ryder climbed down from the roof for the last time of the day. He could’ve bitched, but he noted Owen showed some sweat and dirt, and still wore his tool belt.

But what the hell, a little bitching between brothers was just another sign of affection.

“Figured you’d show up when the hard work was over.”

“Somebody had to run the other crew since you got a wild hair to go off schedule. Those fugly tiles are gone over there, and wasn’t that fun?”

Anything but, Ryder thought, and couldn’t help but be glad he didn’t have to do it.

“If you get material in here tomorrow, we can start the new roof.”

“It’ll be here at eight.” Owen gave Ryder an up-and-down study. “Looks like you’ve earned a beer.”

“I earned a fucking six-pack.”

“Avery’s closing tonight, so I’m going to go over, hang awhile. It’s Beckett’s turn to buy.”

“Beckett’s going home,” Beckett announced. “And taking a five-hour shower. I may eat and sleep in the shower.”

“Looks like you and me, Ry.”

“Looks like you,” Ryder corrected. “I’m doing what Beckett’s doing, and so’s my dog.”

“Fair enough, considering how the two of you smell. We’ll rain check it until tomorrow. We need to go over some things, both sites. We can do it before the crew gets here in the morning, or after we knock off.”

“After,” Ryder said, definitely.

“Friday night?” Beckett arched his brows. “No hot date?”